Two Hits
by fandombloggingaddict
Summary: Andy is walking to blow off some steam when he comes across something he hadn't believed was real - or that he didn't want to believe. Child abuse and coarse language ahead.


It was a fucking cold day in Shermer and Andy was so fucking done with his dad.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why was the fucker so obsessed wit his son's future? Yeah, he wanted to succeed, but not badly enough to throw everything else away for a scholarship.

So fuck him.

Clarke was storming away from his house, trying to cool off. A few blocks later he was walking normally, still thinking about his dad and how he just couldn't say no to the demanding man... not until that Saturday detention. The wrestler froze, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. He could say no, he could stand up for himself.

It's not that he respected the asshole, but Andy kind of admired Bender. John wouldn't take this kind of shit, he'd storm out or yell back or argue until his opponent gave in.

Andy ignored the nagging memory of Bender's little show-and-tell freak out.

He had continued walking, not really caring that he was entering the slums. He could deal with a rogue punk or two; a fight might actually help him calm down. He enjoyed the sense of danger that pressed on his mind. He'd never have been here before that detention, but Bender was right. If they stuck to their comfort zones and avoided the unsavory, every one of them would be worthless, weak conformists.

Okay, maybe Andy was going a bit too far with the ideal, but it was the principle of the matter that he applied to his venting.

The wrestler froze again, but this time in reaction to a sound coming from a house he was passing. It could hardly be called a house, it was in such shambles, but there were definitely people inside. There were several crashes and grunts until Andy heard a yell of pain followed by cruel laughter. It sounded like two men fighting. Usually the wrestler would have minded his own business, but there was another, more agonized yell, and he started toward the ajar front door.

"That's what happens when you fail to obey, boy!" A man bellowed, and Andy heard what sounded like someone being thrown into a wall as he heard the sick THUNK of a head crashing there.

He was running.

When he reached the door he paused, unsure of what he should do now, until he heard the close guttural scream. Without further thought, he barged in and yelled, "STOP!"

God, he was gonna puke.

There was a man standing over a boy with one boot held on his bare back, pinning him to the ground as he used one hand to hold the boy's clearly dislocated arm back and used the other to push a burning cigar into his left shoulder blade. The teenager cut off his yell to inhale shakily before dragging his head up to follow his attacker's bewildered glare. Both teens' eyes widened in horror.

"Bender?!"

"Clarke?!"

The man snarled as he pulled the cigar away, which made John wince. "Get the fuck outta here, kid, unless you want the same!"

Andy was aghast; Bender hadn't been lying. This was his dad. The wrestler shook off his disgust and stepped forward, at which the drunk pulled back on John's arm so that the teen cried out again.

"Back off or I snap his wrist!" The man adjusted his grip to be bending the joint backward. John's other hand clawed into the carpet, getting a grip on all he could. His breath hitched and head ducked down when his father began to bend it beyond its limits.

"Okay, OKAY!" Andy raised his hands. "Just let him go and we can all just go about minding our own business. Let him go."

"You don't tell me what to do, kid! I'll do whatever the fuck I want to!" At this the man snapped his son's wrist, but this time John managed to only groan.

The man released the teen's arm and kicked him over so he was on his back. John tried to pull himself away but he was just kicked until another rib broke and he grunted heavily. Andy watched in aversion as the school criminal writhed slightly under the crushing force of his father's boot. He was brutally kicked once more, sending him into a wretched coughing fit. The man huffed and shook his head. "You were always a pathetic piece of shit, hardly worth the effort of beating. Well, you can go ahead and crawl to your boyfriend, you worthless fag, I'm done with your sorry ass. Don't come back." The drunk left, retreating to dive into another six-pack.

John wheezed and twisted slightly, in too much pain to do much else. Andy quickly went to his side, where his outreaching hand was swatted away. John inhaled shakily. "Enjoy the show, Sporto?" His dark laughter was cut off by a groan. "Get me up, bitch. We gotta get outta here."


End file.
